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#in my head i am a shield-maiden of rohan
sotwk · 27 days
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Taken (Eomer x Reader) - Part 3 of 3
Part 1 / Part 2
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Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.
Word count: 6.7k
Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3
Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing
Rating: T (Teens and up)
Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.
To Read on AO3: Link
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Taken 
PART THREE
Third Age 3019 May 6
Minas Tirith, Gondor
“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”
“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."
Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well. 
While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper. 
And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand. 
Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat. 
“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.” 
“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”  
“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.” 
“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”
“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”
“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”
Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…” 
He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”
Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”
“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”
Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”
“With your approval, yes.”
“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”
“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”
It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”
“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”
Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes. 
“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”
Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”
And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”
Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”
“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”
“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”
The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”
“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”
So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps. 
“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”
Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead. 
“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”
Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”
Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”
The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires. 
* * *
“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”
You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?” 
“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”
“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”
“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”
Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!” 
“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”
You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you. 
Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.
How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt  into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time. 
It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.
You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth. 
Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains.  But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction. 
It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him. 
The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses. 
“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”
“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.” 
Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily. 
What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.
If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables. 
As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair. 
“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”
“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”
“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”
You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”
“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.” 
Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”
Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice. 
“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”
“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”
Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”
The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”
“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”
“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”
The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far. 
“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”
He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.
The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.
You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables. 
The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm. 
“Éomer!!”
Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored. 
I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice. 
Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.
But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer. 
Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.
“I do not need words. This is enough.”
As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.
Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.
“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?
He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.
But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.
Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time  sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.
An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness. 
A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.
“Éomer. W-wait.”
So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.
“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”
“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”
He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.
“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”
You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”
He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.
“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”
He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men. 
The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him. 
Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.
Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since. 
So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.
Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?” 
Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.
“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”
He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.
“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”
He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.
“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”
And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?
“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”
“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”
A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.
“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.
“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”
“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”
“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”
You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.
“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.” 
“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”
“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”
“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”
“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment. 
Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled. 
And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you. 
* * *
They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.
Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted. 
No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well. 
He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers. 
A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.
“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”
Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”
“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”
Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs. 
Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”
He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.
With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.
At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice. 
“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.” 
“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted. 
Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him.  “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”
Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”
“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”
“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”
“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”
Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”
“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.” 
Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.” 
And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.
Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.
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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 years
Text
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ʚ Author's notes: I did it. I moved past the Elrond is just a cupcake vibe. Hope you all enjoy this. The photo was taken during vesak 2015 and belongs to me.
ʚ Pairing : Elrond x Fem. reader (Elf)
ʚ Warnings :  NSFW content | Explicit content of a sexual nature | First time | Penetrative sex 
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The lanterns were already up, to be lit up after dark.
So many colours and shapes, from the simple to the intricate, with some even requiring special frames to keep them in place.
"Beautiful," said your new husband as he walked up to you.
"They are my lord," you said and blushed. "I have never seen anything like it."
"Elrond," he said as he joined you. "Please, call me Elrond."
You manage something that may have been a nod. Or a head shake. Or some gesture that was an odd mixture of the two, for being around him left you tongue-tied. Whatever it was, it made him chuckle. "How do you find Rivendell?"
You look back, to the buildings overlooking the Bruinen. Everything about it spoke of peace, of rest and healing. "I love it, especially your kin. Everyone has been so good to me."
He beamed. "I am glad. For a while there I was worried that our ways would bore you."
You, despite your elven heritage, spent most of your life amongst mortals in the Riddermark. Riding with the shield maidens of Rohan, following their ways. Your parents often wondered if you would end up marrying a mortal warrior until you shocked everyone by saying yes to Elrond's proposal.
"I like the change," you said as you continued along the path to the river. "I just hope I would not have to give up everything from my old life altogether?"
Elrond stopped and studied you. "I will not ask you to give up all that you love for my sake... And I am sure we can do many of the things you like."
"Like riding?" You face him and walk backwards. "And hunting?"
"Yes to both," he said indulgently. "And playing those strange board games..."
"Where you pretend you know nothing about, so I can win?"
He laughed merrily. "You have found me out. I guess I am not as subtle as I thought."
"Indeed not," you turn with a smirk, only to trip over a stone. Elrond catches you before you fall, holding you close so he could steady you. "Are you alright, y/n?"
You grow tongue-tied again, as this was the closest you had ever been with him. Elrond was yet to come to your bed, and it left you confused. "Why?" You manage to say.
"What do you mean, y/n?"
"Why do you not come to bed? My bed?" You huff. "We have been wed a week and yet I sleep alone. Is there something wrong? Is there something about me that has displeased you?"
Elrond shook his head before taking your hand into his. "We had so little time before we wed, and I thought... Well, I hoped that is, to court you first, and get to know you better. I assure you, there is nothing about you that displeases me." 
Fingers lacing through yours made your heart flutter, and his words set you at ease.
Your words, however, reminded Elrond of the world you grew up in. Elves moved slower, while everything was faster and more passionate with mortals. You grew up amongst them, so of course, you would think as they do.
It also made Elrond aware of the demands of his own body, but he fought it back. He was a being that lived through many a millennium and he would comport himself as such.
The two of you walk along till you come across a little cottage. The rune on the doorpost suggested it was Elrond's. "Yours?"
He produced a key and opened it. "I come here from time to time, for quiet reflection. There are books if you would like to read, a bed to rest in..."
A bed to rest in. The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. You shake your head and put it out of your mind. "You said there were books?"
Elrond quickly walked ahead, to show you the little library. Anything to give him time to clear his head and still his racing heart. What was happening to him?
He took his time, searching through titles, till his eyes rested on one that he thought might interest you. "Here. Perhaps this might suit?"
You go over the title. "The songs of the Valar. Could you read it to me?"
That was something Elrond was happy to do. He led you to a chaise and sat next to you, opening the thick book to the first page. His rich voice filled the room as he started reading and you were content to simply snuggle up to him and listen. Elrond enjoyed your company, obliging your questions, listening to your little anecdotes, holding you nearer. He would look at you whenever you took over the reading, gently running his fingers through your hair, wondering what it would be like to see your locks spread over the pillows, what it would feel like to have you beneath him. His resolve was slowly giving away, and he was not all that unhappy about it. 
Hours had passed and daylight had given way to night when he stopped. "It is late," Elrond closed the book and put it away. "Shall we go back?"
You feel lazy and the cosiness of the cabin appealed to you. "Can we stay here instead,  and put up some lanterns if there are any?"
Elrond remembered Lindir leaving some in case he wanted to stay in the cottage. He got started on lighting them and hanging them on to little hooks around the parlour. Soon, soft shades of red and orange and yellow flickered all over the room. "It is lovely," you murmur as you look around.
Elrond joined you. "Indeed. Although, they are nowhere as lovely as the person next to me."
You feel your cheeks flush as a curved finger lifted your chin. "Elrond..."
He says nothing, choosing to simply look at you instead, how lovely you looked in the light. "I felt like I had strayed into a dream, that day I first saw you."
You lift your eyes to his. "I thought no one could look more lovely," he continued, this time reaching back and removing the ribbon holding your braid together. "Or be as fierce as you. That moment I first saw you I knew I had to make you mine."
"And as for my not sharing our bed," he loosened your hair, letting it flow through his fingers as the last of his control slipped away. "That is something I intend on correcting. Tonight"
Your breath gets knocked right out of your lungs when he leaned in and kissed you. Large calloused hands cupped your cheeks as the kiss came swift and deep, giving you no time to think. All you could do was feel.
And he made you feel so much; from the strength in his arms to the tenderness in his touch. Elrond was as gentle as you thought he would be, never taking more than what you gave him. Shivers went up your spine when those large hands buried themselves in your hair, when his tongue ran across your lower lip, gaining entry when your mouth parted for him.
Elrond thought himself a fool for having waited needlessly. He savoured the subtle flavours of your lips, your tongue, moaning ever so softly when you nipped his lip. He tried to carry you, but you stop him. "Here," you said. "Under the lamps."
He rests his temple on yours. "But the bed is soft."
"And so am I." You blush at how bold you were, and you worry you may have offended him. Elrond was not offended in the least. His smirk soon matched yours when he pushed you back onto the carpet after placing a soft cushion in place of a pillow. Red and orange and yellow light washed over everything until you close your eyes when Elrond placed his lips on yours.
Steady hands made quick work on the ties of your dress, and the shift beneath. Trembling as he lifted the garments over your head, you stay as you were, your eyes on your husband as he undressed. So strong and lean, just like how you pictured him to be. You reach out and run a palm over his chest, your hand gliding over muscles trembling beneath your touch. Elrond kept still, his breath growing ragged with each passing second. When your hand went lower, to between his thighs, he threw his head back and let out a string of curses when a slender hand wrapped around his cock. You take your time teasing him, your grip tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing. A hand resting on top of yours guides you as if Elrond was showing you how he liked to be touched.
"Elrond," you whisper. He brings his attention back to you, his eyes never leaving yours. When your free hand cupped his cheek he brought it closer to his lips, kissing your palm, biting down on the soft flesh, sucking down on your thumb while your gaze never left his. The heat that rose within your belly was more than you could stand and it showed in your eyes. That was all Elrond needed to see. "Come here," he growled.
You are pulled onto his lap as kisses come hard and fast. The both of you cling onto each other as Elrond kissed you in a way like he had never done before, and no one in the world you believed, could have kissed you like that, with such fire and need. You feel like you were being swept with the tide, not knowing or caring where the current took you. All that mattered was that you were with him.
A finger gently pushing inside you made you gasp, but it was not enough, and you say so. "More?" Elrond breathed as he inserted a second finger and a third. Groaning as your walls clenched around him, Elrond went as deep as he could, lowering his lips to your breasts. Lips wrapping around an already taut nipple made you arch your back and push down on him, causing him to lose all control of himself. Giving in to the lust building inside him, Elrond pushed you back onto the carpet, propping himself on his hands when your legs slid open for him. "This will hurt," he said as he positioned himself to enter you. "But I promise to be gentle."
You grab onto his arms and rest your legs on his hips as he pushed in, slowly, gently, whispering tender words and leaving soft kisses to distract you from the pain. Despite the pain you enjoy it. You enjoy how his cock feels inside you, how it stretched you as he went in a little further, a little deeper. You loosen your grip as the pain slowly gave away to discomfort and then something else. Elrond let out a deep, strangled moan as he filled you completely. You felt so slick and warm that he wanted to just stay as he was, kissing you, giving you time to get used to him being inside you, and then he moved without realising it. The jolt that washed over you left you hungry for more. "Please," you plead. "Please move. Please make me yours."
Lips ravaged yours as hips pushed in and pulled out, going faster and deeper with each thrust. "Cry out for me," Elrond moaned into your ear when he caught you biting your lip, to stifle your tongue. "I want to hear you cry out for me."
It felt like a dam had burst and you let go of all restraint. It felt like the walls were echoing the sounds you made, but neither of you cared if anyone heard. Elrond did not stop. He was getting close to the edge and he knew it. From the way your fingers were digging into his arms, his shoulders, he was certain you were close too. "Yes?"
You answer by resting your hands on his back, pushing him in even deeper. Elrond did not stop. Not until you cried out his name, your body pulling him in, causing him to spill himself inside you with a deep grunt.
A thin sheen of sweat covered your body, and his. Elrond lowered himself onto you, his body heaving like yours, his lips leaving little kisses on yours as your fingers played with his hair. 
Soft light from the lanterns greeted you both as your eyes opened. "We must come here more often."
Elrond let out a breathy chuckle. "Indeed meleth. Can I call you that? Can I call you meleth?"
Fingers stroked your cheek and eyes the colour of silver gazed longingly into yours. You did not hesitate, as it was something you always wanted to hear him say.
"Of course, you may," you whisper when he rolled to a side and took you with him, his arms still around you. "Meleth."
Elrond kissed your brow and pulled his cloak over you both. Sleep overcame you, but you were happy to give in to rest as he held you in your arms. Elrond stayed up a little longer, watching the lanterns, then you. What a magical night it turned out to be.
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Toeing the Line
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Eomer is secretly in love with Deryn, and she is trying to figure out where his feelings lie when he is banished after the death of Theodred.
MASTERLIST
OC(s) Used: Deryn
Word Count:  1,803
Translation(s): None
~~~~
We were besieged by Orcs; too many to count without pausing in the fight against them.  It almost seemed pointless, until one remembered just what we were fighting for.
Our people.  Freedom.  Rohan.
"For Rohan!"  I screamed into an Orc's ugly face as I impaled it upon my sword.  It crumpled off the end, leaving me to battle the rest of the horde alongside my male companions.
We had set out today on Lord Théodred's orders, to hold the Fords of Isen against Sauroman's Orcs that wished to overrun us.  He had stayed back to man the eyot in case our commander--Grimbold--was unable to defeat the Orcs.  
"Deryn!"  I heard a familiar voice call through the screeching cries of the Orcs, and the yells of men battling for their lives.  Turning my attention away from the battle for a split second, I caught sight of Eómer, cousin of Lord Théodred and someone I loved a little better than a friend.  
Not that he would ever know.  I was just a shield maiden of Rohan, pledged to protect her from all enemies while he was basically royalty.  
His long blonde hair blew in the mild breeze that made this day bearable in our heavy, hot armor as he waded through the dead bodies of Orcs to come to my side.  His sword was held out in preparation to kill anything that tried to attack him.  
"Lord Eómer," I said with a smile, brushing back a wayward black strand of hair while watching his hazel eyes crinkle up as he smiled back at me.  
"Deryn, what have I told you about calling me by my title?"  He teased, reaching my side and thrusting out his sword to catch a passing Orc and slaughter it.  
I took a moment to respond to him as I killed another Orc, watching as their numbers slowly dwindled against our fierce onslaught.  We would keep the Isen another day.
"Fine.  Eómer, how are our forces holding up?"  I asked, looking up at him.  He was so much taller, making me seem even smaller than I really was at 5'9".  
"We've only lost a few men, but it was enough for Théodred to bring his forces in.  They're over by the Ford right now."  Eómer answered absentmindedly, looking over in that direction.  
That's when we heard the scream.  
Instantly, Eómer's face paled, his dark eyes flickering down at me for a second before he was moving towards the Ford, from whence the scream had come.  As he began to run, a single anguished word fled his lips.  
"Théodred."
At that word, I could feel the blood drain from my own face and I followed after him, praying that we wouldn't find what I feared.
As we both sprinted across the bloodied ground, dodging the bodies of our brave, valiant men, and the carcasses of the Orcs, I noticed that all the vile creatures had fled, allowing us a victory.  
Upon reached the Ford, and the huddle of men that stood around the ominously still body of Théodred, Eómer forced his way through, falling to his knees beside his cousin and gently lifting Théodred's crimson-stained hand off his chest.
"Let me through," I said loudly, making the crowd of uncertain men part before me so I could hurry to Théodred's side.  
A quick glance at his chest told me that things weren't good.  His leather armor had been pierced directly below his rib cage, and scarlet had stained much of his abdomen; too much.
I knelt carefully beside Théodred, hands gently moving away the hand that he had pressed to his abdomen in an attempt to staunch the blood constantly oozing.  
He appeared to be unconscious, not dead like I'd originally thought, but the motion of moving his hand had him moaning softly and opening his brown eyes.  A grimace marred his features as he took shallow, trembling breaths.
"My Lord, it's going to be alright."  I tried to soothe him, smoothing back his blonde hair in an attempt to reassure him.  
Théodred's creased brow furrowed even more as he tried to say something, his chest heaving as he took a deep breath, which appeared to cause him excruciating pain as his already pale complexion grew even paler and his eyes fluttered shut; body falling limp as he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
"Lady Deryn," Eómer's soft call of my name had me looking up at him as he stared at me with reddened, worried eyes.  "We need to move him, quickly."  
I nodded in agreement, ignoring Eómer's use of my honorary title.  I didn't feel much in the mood  
to tease him; the sooner Théodred could receive the attentions of a healer, the better.  I might have known something about medicine, but it wasn't enough to properly care for him.
"Yes, he needs to be tended to quickly."  I said softly, letting go of Théodred's hand as I stood up, brushing his blood off my hands onto my skirt.  "Someone get Brego!"
~~~~~~~~
That scum Wormtongue was intolerable.  He had poisoned our King's mind and manipulated him into doing just what he wanted.  
"My Lord, your nephew Eómer approaches.  He has come back from the battle."  I could hear him murmur into King Théoden's ear as he stood beside him.  
Eómer slowly walked up to his Uncle, dropping respectfully onto one knee and bowing his head as he reached the throne.  
"My Lord Théoden, your son Théodred," Eómer paused, swallowing hard, "Théodred, he-he was mortally injured in the battle."  He choked out, but King Théoden gave him no reaction.  Not even a sign that he recognized Eómer's presence.  
Wormtongue moved quickly towards Eómer, his unnaturally pale face made even more ugly by the expression of barely concealed contempt that he wore.  "You should not have troubled My Lord Théoden with such news.  My Lord is already in such a delicate state of mind..."  He said in a low voice, false concern dowsing his words.  
Eómer rose quickly to his feet, looking down upon the wretch named Wormtongue.  His hazel eyes flashed dangerously, and I watch his 6'6" burly frame tense as he clenched his fists in an effort to remain calm.
"There is nothing wrong with King Théoden except the fact that you constantly whisper in his ear, answering for him, controlling him.  He would be better off without you!"  Eómer growled out, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he clenched it.  "We all would," he added in a softer voice.
Wormtongue hurried away from him, the contempt he felt for Eómer no longer hidden in his pale, watery eyes.  "You dare insult me?!"  He hissed in a wondering voice, an evil smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he watched Eómer.  "For such arrogance against your King's most trusted advisor, you deserve banishment;  which I will gladly give you."  He sneered, and Eómer stood silently for a moment, glaring openly at him.
"Someday you will pay with blood for what you are doing; for what you have done," Eómer said quietly, "and I will be there when that day comes."  
With that, he turned away from Wormtongue and King Théoden and walked towards me, head held high.  
Catching sight of me standing by the door, Eómer stopped.  "Deryn, I wish I did not have to say goodbye."  He murmured quietly, dark eyes gentling as they watched me.  "You mean very much to me, and now that I am exiled..."  His rich voice trailed off.
I nodded absentmindedly, shooting a glance towards Wormtongue as he muttered something into King Théoden's ear.  Then Eómer's words registered.
I whirled to look at him, green eyes wide in disbelief.  "Wait, he banished you?!"  I asked incredulously, and Eómer nodded silently.
"That he did, Deryn."  
Gritting my teeth, I outright glared at Wormtongue, forming an idea in my mind.  "I'm going to go punch him."  I growled, marching determinedly towards that foul scum that deserved nothing less than to be fed alive to Orcs.
"Deryn, no!"  Eómer hissed, reaching out and grabbing my arm before I could march over and give Wormtongue a taste of my fist.  "He'll have you banished too, or worse, executed."  
I scowled at him.  "So what if I get banished with you?  There's nowhere I'd rather be than by your side."  I said, trying to keep the heat from rising in my cheeks at such a forward declaration.  
Eómer just grinned, hazel eyes twinkling.  "You make it sound as if you have some attachment to me," he teased, releasing my arm from his grasp and interlacing our fingers instead.  
The blush that flooded my cheeks at his words and touch was impossible to hide, so I just ducked my head, trusting in my long black hair to hide my embarrassment.  This was what made it so hard to hide my feelings; the way he acted as if we were just friends and comrades, nothing more.  
Deciding to change to subject, I looked back at Wormtongue.  "Are you sure I can't punch him?"  I asked softly, and the gentle chuckle I heard in response to my words had me looking up into Eómer's smiling face.
"Yes, Lady Deryn."
I frowned, "what have I told you about using my title?"  I asked, contemplating pulling away from him and making a running dash at Wormtongue.  "What if I just break his nose a little?  Surely that's alright?"  I asked before Eómer could respond to my first question and this time he
laughed outright, covering his mouth with his hand in an attempt to stifle it.
"I'm positive, Deryn.  Now, I must go.  Perhaps one day we will meet again?"  He said, making it sound more like a question than a statement.
"No.  We will never meet again, Eómer.  I'm sorry."  I whispered, and Eómer's gaze darkened instantly, the laughter vanishing in the blink of an eye.  
"What do you mean by 'no'?"  He asked in a whisper that vaguely hinted at the emotions he was feeling.
"I mean 'no' as in the fact that we will never need to meet again.  I'm coming with you."  I said, smiling a little at the look on Eómer's face.  
With a sigh, he gently squeezed my hand that he still held in his grasp.  "I suppose that even if I say no again, you'll just find a way to come with me."  He said in what was clearly mock-exasperation; I could tell.  He was not as good of an actor as he thought.
I nodded.  "Yes.  You're going to be stuck with me, whether you like it or not."
Eómer groaned, turning away from me on the pretense of walking out the door.  But nothing could hide the huge smile that bloomed on his face.
Sometimes I couldn't understand him.
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theguythatdraws · 3 years
Text
Tree
The forest was calm.
He liked it that way.
A bird chirped. It landed on him.
"Hello, my little friend."
The bird flew onto his wooden finger, as he lifted it to his amber-colored eyes.
He was an Ent, a tree person. At least 20 feet tall, he was made of wood and moss covered some of his body. He had a crop of leaves on top of his head, running down the back of it forming a hair line. On his torso and right shoulder, to the right of his face, he had a large burn, his bark turned black. An axe was also lodged into his back, from one of those savage Orcs.
The bird twittered to him, a language he could understand.
"In the forest? Take me to these creatures."
He didn't move too often, so he had to pull his roots out of the ground. He lumbered to the place the bird told him to go.
He saw them; two little creatures, fighting each other. One was wearing armour, and wielding a sword-he hated how much swords hurt- but obviously this one was a Man. The other was wielding an axe-even worse than swords- and dark blue skin. An Orc.
He tried to decide which to get rid of first.
He didn't like Men. They took too much of the forest. Always thought themselves the superior race of Middle Earth. Hacking and slashing with swords and axes, often they fought each other.
But he hated Orcs more. They took his Willow. His love.
He stepped from the forest, and grabbed the Orc. It shouted in Orcish-such an ugly tongue- until the Ent crushed its ribcage in the foul armour. The Orc fell limp and silent. He tossed it aside unceremoniously, as if throwing a dog a bone.
Now that the Ent could see the Man, he saw it was a female. What were they called again? Women? He leaned close to gaze at the woman. She had blue hair, and well kept armour. She held up her shield in a defensive pose.
"Stay back, tree!"
He hated being called that.
"TREE?! I am not a tree! I am an Ent! Now leave the forest before I do to you what I did to that filthy Orc!"
"I get it, I hate Orcs, too. But you cannot leave! I can see you are a powerful being. I have need of your strength."
"And why should I listen to a Woman who wields a sword? Swords cause nothing but pain. Besides, what's in it for me?
"The fate of your forest. Middle Earth is in danger."
He did care about the fate of the forest. And if he let it be destroyed, he'd be no better than an Orc.
"Very well. Tell me on the way."
"Well, what do I call you, Ent?"
"Finn."
"I am Gwendolyn Gordon, Shield Maiden of Rohan."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gwendolyn."
@drinkyoursoupbitch
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Boromir ~ Take On Me
800 Followers Challenge!
Bonus Fic!
Based on  Take On Me by A-ha
Words: 1,346
Warnings: Rocky beginnings, dislike to something more, violence, wounded Boromir
It had been a rocky start to your friendship with Boromir.  A shield maiden from Rohan, you weren’t really meant to be in Rivendell to begin with, it was just that your cousin had had enough sense to send you, hoping for aid to heal your father and free him from the ill grip that he was in. You were the one that was least likely to be missed.
The Council of Elrond had been the first the two of you had met and you took an instant dislike as he gave in so quickly to the power of the ring.  Having dealt with what your father was going through for what seemed like too long a time now, the draw of the ring was familiar and you knew that nothing good would come from it.
It had led to an interesting confrontation between you and the Captain of Gondor, one that Aragorn had had to break up.
The start of the journey had been little better, clashing over what was being trained to the Hobbits.
“Why don’t you just keep your opinion to yourself.”  Boromir said coldly after you’d interrupted for the umpteenth time.
You shrugged.  “Merely offering advise that will keep them alive.”
Boromir sends you a cold look.  “Like you would’ve done much fighting.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“It means, as a woman, you are not expected to fight on the battlefield.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t I can’t come over and knock you flat Gondorian.”
“I’d like to see you try it. I’ll have you down before you can even draw your sword.”
“Enough,” Gandalf said hotly, stopping the two of you.  “We have any more bickering between us and we’ll be no better than the enemy.  We are on the same side, no matter how you two seem to think otherwise.”
“If he didn’t think-”
“If she didn’t think-”
“You both won’t be thinking if I have anything to do with it, now be silent!”  Gandalf snapped.  “Honestly.”
The others, it was clear, found it most amusing.
Boromir’s opinion didn’t overly change until the Mines of Moria, where luckily, you were alert enough to stop Boromir from going tumbling over a broken stairwell, catching him and pulling back.
“Keep your wits about you Gondorian.”  You said, hauling him to his feet.  “I can’t be there to save you all the time.”
If you hadn’t all been running for your lives, he would’ve thanked and chastised you for making that comment, as it was, he had really wanted to thank you, but all that happened after, it slipped his mind.
That was, until he was lost deep in thought in Lothlorien.
It came to him so suddenly, that he found himself up and searching for you within seconds, finding you deep in talk with Aragorn.
Aragorn noticed him standing there awkwardly at first and with a small smile, gives his leave, leaving on the two of you.
You wait for him to speak.
“I, er,” He fumbled a little, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Thank you.  I wanted to thank you.”
You gave a small smile. “It is alright Boromir; I’m just glad that we didn’t lose two of our fellowship, I’m afraid I have little hope enough left already.”
Boromir stares at you, it slowly dawning on him that it had been the first time that you’d used his name, moving to sit next to you.  “What ails you so Y/N?  One such as fair as you, should not be so troubled.”
Laughing softly, you shake your head.  “My people are struggling, the king, my father, is under some spell that none can break him from.  I had gone to Rivendell for help instead to find myself on a different journey.  I cannot help but wonder how my people fair in such dark and troubled times.”
“From what I know of Rohan, you are a strong people,” Boromir said quietly.  “You will see them again soon enough, once we end this darkness once and for all.”
“Perhaps,” Your smile turns sad.  “But it does not make it easier now to deal with, to know that my people are suffering alone.”
“I understand,” Boromir goes distant for a moment.  “Both our peoples have been fighting for a long time, it seems almost unfair for us not to be there when they need us.”
Silence falls between the two of you and neither of you could decided whether it was uncomfortable or not.
Leaving Lothlorien, everyone was quiet, feeling strange to be back on the journey, none still really over being a member down.
You felt like you should have known it would wrong quickly.
The clash of steel reached your ears as you wondered through the woods, looking for Frodo and it didn’t take long before you were running and fighting through Uruk-hai.
Then the horn of Gondor sounded.
Your heart thudded loudly in your ears, having a single moment to tighten the shield on your arm before you fought even harder, hurrying to try and get to Boromir.
The arrow bit deeply into Boromir, his breath taken from him, but he knew he had to keep going, he couldn’t leave the Hobbits to such a fate as this.  He kept going, kept fighting the Uruk-hai, barely registering as the bow was drawn again.
A roar almost distracted him from a swing, he was already expecting the worst anyway, so why did he need to focus on that?
The resounding thunk of an arrow splintering through wood was what brought him around, you standing there, shield in front of both of them, the arrow that had been shot at him having pierced your shield and sitting so close to your eye.
But Boromir didn’t have time to register the details as your roared again and charged forward, heading straight for the Uruk-hai drawing his bow again and he blinked, the two of you stuck in close combat.
The pain was winning now, the Hobbits being taken, no matter how hard he kept fighting, how much he was trying to pay attention to you, it was all too much, collapsing down onto one knee.
There was a scream but he didn’t have the energy to turn around, the wound burning in his side. Maybe this was a good thing.  He wouldn’t have to see what terrible fate became of you.
But then you there, dirty and bloody, swimming a little in his vision.
You grimaced, looking over the wound.  “I told you to keep your wits Boromir.”
All he could was give a small laugh, winching at his side.
Kneeling by his side, you look him quickly over, a frown creasing your forehead.  “This is beyond my skill to treat, we need to get you Aragorn, and then maybe to the closest healers we can find.”
Boromir choked back a sob of pain.  “Just leave me be Y/N.  Go after Merry and Pippin.”
Your frown deepens, but you shake your head.  “You lose it here, you're in a world of hurt.” You shrug his arm over your shoulder, keeping him up.  “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
“You cannot hold me and get us out of here.”  Boromir said through gritted teeth.  “Leave me be, go after the little ones.”
“I am not leaving you to die Boromir,” You said firmly.  “And that’s final.”
After a moment of silent walking, Boromir chuckles through his pain, causing you to give him an odd look. “I’m just thinking.”
“Is it helping with the pain?”
“No,” He chuckles a bit more, avoiding your gaze.  “It was more that maybe you aren’t so bad after all.”
You smile, keeping him up, hearing Aragorn running towards you.  “Well, let’s get you healed up first, then we can have a proper discussion around it, alright?”
Boromir grimaces, holding tight to the arrow in his side.  “That sounds like a good plan, my lady.”
You give a worried smile, catching Aragorn’s eye as he hurried over, and you wondered just how this future would go.
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blankdblank · 5 years
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Sleep Pt 3
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Pt 1 - Pt 2 -
Short and sweet.
Tags –
@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @abiwim, @jotink78, @c-s-stars
Safely in Glorfindel’s arms you were carried off to your usual bed near the Dwarves’ courtyard while Aragorn was carried to his room next door to yours to be tucked in as well. A soft smile eased onto the Lord’s face in his covering you lightly then he slipped out of the room, pleased that you were safe in their lands until you had to return to the paused quest.
One careful motion after another brought the blonde Prince closer to the completion of the task of repairing your hair clasp. At the early flickers of dawn showing across the treetops Fili grinned eyeing the like new hair clip. With a weak chuckle he fisted his shirt in his hand and trotted to the public bath house, there he stripped, bathed and pulled on his pants, socks and boots again. Once again his fisted his shirt in his hand to return to his bags to pick a cleaner one, wishing to smell better should you honor him with a hug in gratitude. Though in his mental recitations of what he wished to say to you he lost focus, abandoning the task and heading straight for your room with trinket in hand.
Eagerly in a gentle knock, his knuckles met the side of the open archway leading inside as he peeked inside, only to smile wider watching your groggy squint over at him before you sat up brushing the covers back. On your feet you brushed your braid over your back and crossed the room to him with a curious smirk of your own asking, “Prince Fili, why aren’t you in bed?”
The last few words were barely audible as your eyes sank over his bare torso. By the fully clothed figure alone you knew he had quite a sturdy frame but in the golden lantern light each dip and curve over his broad shoulders, firm toned arms and torso the once surprising strength in bouts with his kin wasn’t so surprising anymore. Though the stretch of blonde hairs across his pecs stemming down in a tapering line towards the v muscular dips just above his waistband were more than enough to make you forget yourself entirely and nearly reach out to follow it with your fingers hoping to see just what was hidden from sight on his lower half.
The fading of your focus and distant gaze aimed far lower on him than usual drew a proud chuckle from him in his shifting on his feet, “I wanted to show you something.”
His sentence ended and your eyes shifted to his eyes catching his adoring gaze up at you taking in the early dawn sending colored lights over your seemingly already glowing hair and skin. He wet his lips and raised his hand from his side with a growing smile making your eyes sink again. Recognizing what he was holding you took in a quiet breath and raised a hand to carefully accept it from his callused palm that tingled at the gentle brushing of your fingers against his skin nearly making him shiver at his hunger for more. Hopefully he watched your inspection of the clip carefully taking each detail of the somehow flawless clip formerly assumed to be a lost cause for any to repair.
Wordlessly you stood and raised your hand to draw your braid forward with trembling fingers through tears forming in your eyes making his lips part in concern. Softly as your trembling fingers failed to undo the bow you asked, “Could you?”
Eagerly he nodded and shifted his fingers, lifting his hands to ease tenderly around the end of your silken braid into his palm while his free fingers easily removed the ribbon and secured the clasp in place and eased it back into your open palm. His eyes watching a tear ease down your cheek making his lips part at a loss for words. Tearfully you whispered, “You have no idea, what this means to me.”
“We know loss, our home, our honor, we have few trinkets left to mark our lines. I am sorry that I would not be able to have the honor of knowing your Amad, but seeing the woman her Daughter has grown to be, I am certain any man would find himself on his knees for just a glance from her.” His words made your fingers shift allowing your braid to drop to your chest as you eyed his hand raising to reach yours, “I do not have much to offer, what I would promise is now laying under a Dragon, all I have is a weightless title, my hands and, myself. Would you allow me to court you?”
Shakily you drew in a breath, “Are you certain, your family-.”
That word broke your voice enough for his hands to rise folding around yours holding them close to his chest as he let out a weak chuckle, “My family loves you. Just as I do. Of course Uncle has approved, though he did state having to wait for the announcement until we could meet your kin and gain their approval as well.” He shifted a bit closer to you, asking, “Would you, allow me to court you?”
Wordlessly you stood as another tear streamed down your cheek, the sliding of your hands from his made his lips part then close at his assumption of refusal to his offer. The shift of your hand higher to the side of his ear brought his eyes to yours hopefully, a nod from you later his grin grew through your fingertips gingerly touching his hair. Awkwardly he shifted on his feet wishing nothing more than to wrap you in his arms but he paused, staring up at you in pure adoration before he caught what he imagined to be a snap in your expression. 
A single step later your hand had eased through the hair on the back of his head after you had folded your arms around him. Instantly his head rested in the crook of your neck holding you tightly with his arms around your back, warming you fully in moments just with the sheer heat coming off of his skin and heated exhales. Your fingers tangling in his hair only egged on his grip tighter as he felt your head tilt forward to press your cheek to his.
Barely above a whisper you stated, “I never thought it would be whole again, almost as if I’d lost her all over again when it was named beyond repair.”
Nuzzling closer to you as he inched higher on his toes he smirked at your fingers smoothing through his hair and across his upper back in timid strokes, “It is hard to imagine anyone would have given up so easily on it. No offence, but your smiths must not handle much past horse shoes if the clasp was out of the question.”
In a weak scoff your head pulled back reluctantly making his do the same to peer up at you again, with a sigh your forehead pressed to his, “My kin, we prize the living over material things, so what we have is precious, though rarely able to be repaired of replaced if damaged or lost. It must be laughable to you, you boastful Dwarf.”
Through a chuckle in your pull back again his hands eased off from around your back to your hands again in a massive smile, “I am allowed to boast, I am courting the finest Shield Maiden in all of Rohan.”
You rolled your eyes then watched as he raised one of your hands to his lips for a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “I am far from the finest, but I will do all I can to aid you and your kin returning home.”
“You are here. We are all grateful for that.”
You nodded then wet your lips, “I do have to warn you, I have a few talents that may make you change your mind on courting me.”
He let out a chuckle, “Unless it has anything to do with popping things out of your nose like Dori did that once, that, can be avoided, but is near a deal breaker if you insist on flaunting it.”
Unable to help it your face curled up in an awkward growing smile after you let out a weak giggle, “It has nothing to do with my nose.”
He nodded, “I look forward to seeing it then.” His eyes trailed longingly to your hair, mainly the small strip slipping free from your larger braid with single braids woven in to make use of your ribbons and clasps, “In our courting, there are certain steps we could take now if you wished.”
Your eyes lowered to your hair then met his again, “Something to do with my hair?”
He nodded, “We braid each other’s hair, just a small one to sit apart from the rest. If you would allow me, that is.”
His hope lingered on your eyeing his hair in return, “So, do I get to braid yours back, or no?”
Instantly his smile returned and doubled after adding, “I would love to wear your braid in my hair, would I get a ribbon as well?”
You let out a weak giggle, “I might have a spare in your length.”
You turned to fetch the tucked away ribbon from your bag as he eased his fingers into a hidden braid in the back of his head. Beside the hilt of a hidden dagger he pressed in the sealed latch allowing the two beads free from the hidden pocket he closed after and looked up to see you with an identical ribbon and set of clasps to yours in a much shorter length. With a timid smile you sat on the small lounge beside the dresser and took down your hair, hungrily he eyed your settling curls as you eased it out of the loose braid settling it over your back. “I’ll keep it to your usual style, but I’ll add a braid to weave around it.” Earning a nod from you as he sat down behind you.
As if he were scared to damage it, in your mind, his thick fingers cautiously claimed the strip to set aside for later before dividing your hair up as he’d seen you do hundreds of times before. Each section into a braid to meet at the back of your head to form a larger one with ribbons woven inside and securing the marvel. 
His single braid was a larger strip than you imagined but the complicated spiraled six sectioned style complete with sapphire encrusted lions on the beads he added to secure the middle and end before drawing it back to twist around the larger braid he secured under your repaired hair clasp. Lovingly he eyed the creation and mended clasp, shifting to allow you to eye his hair for where to place yours to his already braid filled hair only to freeze at your gentle peck on his cheeks. With a soft blush coating them he sat smiling staring at the doorway catching the crowd of waking Dwarves growing as they knelt, leaned and climbed over one another to peer in from afar watching as you sectioned off his hair.
A clasp up top secured the yellow ribbon you wove into it until reaching the end to secure with the ribbon he’d traded for your hair clasp he swore to wear proudly before his eager timid peck on your cheek and race to go be tackled by the group that each took their turns asking why he was shirtless. Awed smiles grew at their welcoming you into the clans and leading you to the early breakfast after Lord Elrond heard the commotion and decided to bring the news of a letter from your Uncle.
Pt 4
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goldalify · 3 years
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Examples of how to write action scenes
In this second post we are going to see six examples taken from books and authors very different from each other, to be able to analyze how they solved their action scenes. Let's see what you think:
Excerpt from "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix", by JKRowling
Bellatrix raised her wand and exclaimed:
- I torture!
Neville howled and drew his legs toward his chest so that the Death Eater holding him had to hold him in the air for a moment. Then the man released Neville, who fell to the ground, twisting and screaming in pain.
"That was just a snack!" Bellatrix exclaimed, raising her wand again. Neville stopped screaming and lay at her feet, sobbing. The Death Eater turned and looked at Harry. And now, Potter, give us the prophecy or you will have to watch your little friend die slowly.
This time Harry didn't have to think: he had no choice. He reached out and held out the prophecy, which had been warmed by the warmth of his hands. Lucius Malfoy stepped forward to catch it.
But then, suddenly, at the top of the room, two doors opened and five people ran into the room: Sirius, Lupine, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley.
Malfoy turned and raised his wand, but Tonks had already cast a stunning spell on him. Harry did not wait to see if he had hit his mark, but jumped off the dais and stepped quickly away. The Death Eaters were completely distracted by the appearance of members of the Order, peppering them with spells from above as they descended the bleachers into the moat. Between running bodies and flashes of light, Harry saw Neville crawl on the ground, so he dodged another beam of red light and threw himself to the ground to reach his friend.
Fragment of “El zorro”, by Isabel Allende
Three times they were able to reload their muskets before Chief Gray Wolf, followed by his bravest warriors, managed to climb the barricade and invade the ship, where he was greeted by the Spanish. In the chaos of the battle, Captain Alejandro de la Vega never lost sight of the Indian chief, and as soon as he managed to free himself from the enemies that surrounded him, he jumped on him, confronting him with a roar of a beast, saber in hand. He dropped the steel with all his might, but hit the ground because the Gray Wolf chief's instinct had warned him of danger a second before and he managed to steal the body, leaning to the side. The brutal momentum used in the lunge threw the captain off balance, and he went forward, stumbled, fell to his knees and his sword struck the ground, splitting in half. With a shout of triumph, the Indian raised his spear to pierce the Spaniard from side to side, but he was unable to complete the gesture because a blow to the back of his neck knocked him from the mouth and rendered him immobile.
Excerpt from "The Return of the King", by JRRTolkien
Suddenly, the hideous beast flapped its wings, kicking up a foul wind. It rose into the air, and then it swooped down on Eowyn, attacking her with its beak and open claws.
Eowyn was unmoved now: maiden of Rohan, descendant of kings, supple as a reed but tempered as steel, beautiful but terrible. He delivered a swift, deft, and deadly blow. And when the sword cut through the outstretched neck, the head fell like a stone, and the bulk of the body collapsed with open wings. Eowyn jumped back. But the shadow had already vanished. A glow enveloped her and her hair gleamed in the light of the rising sun.
Fragment of "The Three Musketeers", by Alexandre Dumas
He had just finished when d'Artagnan struck him a furious thrust which, had he not jumped back swiftly, he would probably have been joking for the last time. The stranger then saw that the thing was happening as a joke, drew his sword, saluted his adversary and became gravely on guard. But at the same moment, his two listeners, accompanied by the host, fell on D'Artagnan with their sticks, kicks, and shoves. Which was such a rapid and complete diversion in the attack that D'Artagnan's adversary, as he turned to face that rain of blows, sheathed with the same precision, and, as an actor, that he had ceased to be , he became a spectator of the combat again, a role that he fulfilled with his usual impassiveness, muttering nevertheless:
"What a plague of Gascons!" Put him on his orange horse, and let him go!
"Not before I killed you, coward!" Shouted d'Artagnan as he faced the best he could and without retreating a step from his three enemies, who beat him to the ground.
"One more gasconada!" Murmured the gentleman. By my faith these Gascons are incorrigible! Continue the dance, because he wants it! When you are tired you will say that you have enough.
But the stranger didn't know what kind of stubborn he had to deal with; D'Artagnan was not a man who ever asked for mercy. So the combat continued for a few seconds yet; at last, D'Artagnan, exhausted, let his sword escape, which a blow broke into two pieces. Another blow that struck him lightly on the forehead, knocked him down almost at the same time, all bloodied and almost fainted.
Fragment of "Africanus", by Santiago Posterguillo
"Follow me who you can!" The general is in danger! And without waiting for a response from his soldiers, he left the Carthaginian group and slashed his way through the Iberians. He charged with such ferocity that once he struck down two enemy warriors, the rest fell back.
Several dozen soldiers followed Hannibal's attack. New Iberian reinforcements met them, but Aníbal's determination was such that enemy after enemy fell under his blows. Blood flowed down the edge of his sword to his hand and then his elbow. He had drops of splatter on his face and someone had hit him in the arm, but he was still steadfast, moving toward his father. Amílcar was no longer visible, but only a bunch of Iberians in a circle striking out. Hannibal sensed the worst. The rest of the soldiers who accompanied him had understood what was happening and seemed to have caught the same spirit of rage that drove Hannibal.
Hamilcar fought surrounded by enemies. One by one the few Carthaginian soldiers who were fighting to protect him fell. There were dozens of Iberians who had thrown themselves against them. In the distance, the wild and desolate roars of elephants seemed to be heard, but they never seemed to arrive. At that moment he felt the first wound, deep, in his side. A bias that made him double over. Another Carthaginian soldier fell beside him. He heard the voice of the rest.
"The general was wounded!" They hurt the ge...!
That soldier could not finish. An Iberian sword sliced ​​through his throat as his interrupted scream warned his companions of endless disaster. The Iberians finished off the rest of the escort and pounced on Hamilcar. He rose once more and raised his shield in resistance. For some reason he didn't have the strength to use his other arm and fight with his sword. He was unaware of the depth of the wound that had cut the muscles in his right forearm. At that moment came a final blow from the back and he felt his body tremble and fall flat on the ground, his face towards the earth soaked by the stream that crossed the valley. The Iberians went to finish him off but at that moment a group of Carthaginians fell on them, roaring in droves and delivering deadly blows loaded with hatred and revenge. Aníbal in particular shot down three Iberians in three accurate shots in less than five seconds. The elephants began to arrive and skillfully directed by their drivers, they crushed the terrified Iberians who had never seen such beasts before. In a matter of minutes all the warriors that had surrounded the Carthaginian general were slaughtered and in a short time the entire attack was repelled. However, for Hannibal, everything had come late, infinitely late.
Fragment of “Everything under the sky”, by Matilde Asensi
What followed was one of the most unusual scenes I have ever seen in my life. At lightning speed, Mr. Jiang drew a long fan at least twice the normal size from his robe and, with a withering blow, threw Fernanda, Biao, Tichborne, and me back against him. ground, far away. I don't remember him hurting me, but the force with which he propelled me could have been that of a Paris bus. However, the most incredible thing of all was that, as soon as we touched the ground, Mr. Jiang was already fighting with the five thugs at the same time without hardly moving and with his left arm calmly resting behind his back, as if having a pleasant conversation with some friends. One of the hitmen threw his leg to give him a very strong kick and Mr. Jiang, calmly holding the fan against his belly, struck him with his foot so that the hitman's leg bounced back, hitting one of his companions squarely and throwing him against a pile of garbage. The guy must have been unconscious because he no longer moved and the one with the kick, who had lost his balance, was tumbling and moving his arms in the air until he crashed against a large rock that hit him square in the head and it bounced him back like a ball. Meanwhile, a third minion had picked up speed and was attempting to kick Mr. Jiang terribly from the left in the middle of the run. But the antiquarian, still unperturbed, parried the blow with his fan, dumping it on his instep. I would not be mistaken, because what I am telling happened so quickly that the eyes could hardly follow it (and I was still on the ground, trying to get up), but I would say that, at that moment, the henchman, while withdrawing his leg, he threw his fist into Lao Jiang's stomach, who, very deliberately, hit him with the fan on the wrist and, from there, went up to his face and hit him too. The guy gave a horrible scream and, as his left cheek began to bleed profusely, his right hand and foot dangled lifelessly, like those skinned animals we had seen in the butcher shops suspended from a hook. Meanwhile, two other hit men were running at Lao Jiang with outstretched fists; the first took a tremendous blow to his ribs that left him breathless and, the second, to the arm with which he was going to beat the antiquarian, so that both were at once hesitant allowing Mr. Jiang to take advantage of those brief seconds to deliver, to one, a tremendous blow to the head that made him collapse to the ground like a wrestler without knowledge and, to the other, a brutal kick in the stomach that catapulted him backwards hunched over himself. Neither moved again.
What do you think of these scenes? Any other that you remember that you liked?
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meabhmcdonnell · 7 years
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Jane Villeneuva
Jane is the protagonist of the CW’s fantastic Jane the Virgin, a single mother, who is incredibly devoted to her family. The series kicks off with her being ‘accidentally, artificially inseminated’ leading to her unexpected pregnancy. Jane is a wonderful character to watch, optimistic and brave but grounded – she never becomes annoying. Jane is of course supported by a host of strong, brilliant women from her headstrong mother Xiomara, to her level=headed, forthright grandmother Alba. Jane’s decision to remain a virgin at the beginning of the series is unconventional, but she consistently uses her agency to make the decision for herself. She never judges other characters for their sex lives and makes her own decisions about her own. Jane faces multiple obstacles in her life but remains the strong, kind, forthright character we all love.
Imperator Furiosa
If you haven’t seen Mad Max Fury Road – then get out from under the rock you’ve been living under and relax into one of the most feminist movie spectacles of the last ten years. Furiosa, played by Charlize Theron, is the short haired, one armed, prized driver of Immortan Joe’s fleet. She begins her story by breaking out his captured brides and escaping with them, headed for an Eden-like land of her childhood. Despite the movie’s name, she, not Mad Max, is it’s main character. She proves herself to be badass and strong and heroic. She takes the women away, determined to set them free.  She does this without seeking reward or without any regard for her own safety. She is strong and resourceful, pushing the other characters forward and inspiring the wives to take up arms to defend their own freedom. She is the one who ultimately defeats Immortan Joe and returns to his citadel to claim victory for the citizens.
Martha Jones
Martha Jones, how we miss thee! One of our long time laments about Doctor Who is that Martha only received one season. Martha Jones was one of the best companions that the Doctor never noticed, and is one of the most impressive women to ever take the role.  She accompanies David Tennant’s Doctor on some of his most iconic adventures – she meets Shakespeare, faces off against the Master and finds herself at the end of the world. She has a fantastic moment during the third series episode, The Family of Blood, where she proves her doctor’s credentials when she recites the name of every single bone in the human hand – a truly cheer-worthy moment.  Martha is brave and resourceful and has one of the best, most assertive exits from the TARDIS and the Doctor’s life. She is one of the most heroic characters ever to grace Doctor Who – and deserves to be remembered as such!
Eowyn
I can’t write a list about feminist heroes and not include Eowyn from Lord of the Rings. I just can’t. Arwen and Galadriel are incredibly cool as well but I can remember being 12 years old, sitting in a cinema and watching Eowyn don her armour and sneak out as part of the Rohirrim. There are few more cheer-worthy moments than when she faces off against the Witch King of Angmar and defeats him by the very fact that she is a woman – delivering the immortal line “I am no man!”. Eowyn is the girl who was raised by men, who was taught how to fight and emerges as a ‘shield maiden’ of Rohan. In the book her constant need for war is replaced after her own healing for a need to heal others. This disappointed me as a child reading it, it felt like some of her fire was diluted. But she makes the decision herself and still has agency. Her decision to make something out of her life is a positive one, as it’s pointed out that she had planned to die in glory on the battlefield and now has to figure out how she is going to go on living her life. She’s still one of my favourite female characters and always will be- for her complexity and her strength and her adamance that no one will tell her who or what to be.
Rebecca Bunch
Rebecca Bunch is the bubbly, hard-working and anxiety-filled protagonist of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Rebecca is the girl who did everything right. She studied hard, she got the great job at a law firm in New York and despite all of this she was dreadfully unhappy. A chance meeting with her teenage ex boyfriend has her hop on a plane and move to his home town of West Covina California. Which, although it sounds like a ridiculous move, it’s exactly the one our Rebecca needs. West Covina becomes her home, where she makes new friends and even more bad decisions. It helps that she narrates her life through brilliantly written, thoughtful songs. Rebecca is a staunch feminist, and although she has trouble showing people that she cares, her principles towards other women are almost always on point. All of her female friendships feel genuine and are some of the best aspects of the show to watch. She is continually commenting on double standards for women and men and is an example of a successful woman who embraces her femininity. Rebecca may have problems in her personal life, but she is a smart and engaging character to watch and really feels like someone you might know.
Lady Eboshi
To be fair we could have listed most of the women in Studio Ghibli’s back catalog and we’d have an interesting list of complex, intelligent feminist characters but Lady Eboshi is one of the most interested in equal empowerment. Of course, so is Nausicaa of Nausicaa: Valley of the Wind. Lady Eboshi is painted as the antagonist of Hayao Miyazaki’s Princess Mononoke but it’s her feminism and socialism that are her redeeming character traits. She is the leader of the newly built Irontown and has created an independent industrial community incorporating all people as workers. It’s mentioned that she ‘went around buying up the contracts of every brothel woman she could find’ and the women are incredibly loyal to her. They also are all hard workers in the iron plant. The lepers are her engineers, but she is certainly using them for her own ends. They’re all treated like equals by Lady Eboshi – although her equality doesn’t reach to the Princess of the film’s namesake.  Lady Eboshi is a character who’s downfall is her pride and her arrogance but she is a staunch feminist and she does learn from her mistakes – eventually. She’s one of Ghibli’s more complex characters but she is also one of its richest, one of it’s most important.
Favourite fictional feminists: part two Jane Villeneuva Jane is the protagonist of the CW’s fantastic Jane the Virgin, a single mother, who is incredibly devoted to her family.
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